


best saved for the second date, or the fifth

by lionsenpai



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Gags, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which girls bond over BDSM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally was supposed to be part of a two-shot in which Annie introduces Mikasa to bdsm and then this chapter occurs, but that will probably never happen. Couldn’t waste 3,000 words of otp smut, though.

You decide you like what Annie showed you.

You don’t say as much to her afterward (not that she questions it after the performance she pulled from you), but you begin to do a little research on your own. It’s not that you’ve never heard of people being tied, of ball gags and blindfolds and—your face goes the lightest shade of pink when you discover them—collars. You just never thought you’d like that sort of thing.

All of the websites you find on the subject stress two things: trust and communication. It’s enough to make you snort because there’s been a short supply on both since you and Annie first met, but that didn’t seem to stop the whole thing from making your legs shake.

So you decide, to hell with those sites, and begin browsing online shops instead. It’s more than a little daunting once you settle in because there are hundreds of different products, all offering a myriad of uses wrapped into one candy red vibrator or set of cuffs and tethers. You aren’t really sure how to choose (you aren’t even sure how much of this  _you’d_  like, and that’s not even accounting for what  _Annie_  would appreciate), but you do know where to start.

The blindfold is a must; you wouldn’t miss the chance to leave Annie as helpless and unaware as you were when she suddenly pressed a bullet vibrator between your thighs and you jerked nearly out of your seat.

And on that train of thought, you decide to invest in a pair of cuffs and tethers so she’s just as stuck as you were, but from there you stall.

There are so many options, and you don’t know exactly what you want to do to her besides. There’s a level of planning that you’ve never had to do before when it comes to BDSM, and you can’t find the answer on any informational site you’ve looked at. You think you could just do what you usually do, but you think more of the same makes the blindfold and cuffs seem a little frivolous.

You wonder if Annie went into it having a plan, and decide, yes, she must have. Everything had been methodical, exact. She must have had some idea of what she was going to do to you, but this is your first time doing anything of the sort. You’ve got no guide, and you certainly aren’t going to ask  _her_  for help.

So you decide, while looking over your online cart, to throw in an erotic novel about a three girls in a BDSM relationship. Then you check out and close your laptop, very pleased with yourself.

The week passes without a word from Annie. It doesn’t surprise you, nor does it really bother you. You don’t keep tabs on each other because when it gets right down to it, you’ve got no obligations to each other. You know if you text her she might answer, but you’ve ignored enough of her texts to know she won’t think twice about trashing the message if she doesn’t feel like coming over, and something about that is almost comforting. It means you’ll have time to learn her trade before you see her next, and she won’t think a thing of it.

When your package comes, you tear it open and begin to inspect your new gear with scarcely hidden excitement. The cuffs hold better than you thought but are easy latching. It’s more of a struggle to undo them when you’re wearing them than it is if you aren’t, and that gives you some comfort. The blindfold is mostly plain, a simple red sash that is thick enough to leave you in the dark, but it serves its purpose. And the book is a small paperback with a discrete enough cover and title ( _Chained_  in thin black script against a red background).

You start on the book immediately, and by the end of the day you’ve read nearly a third of it and are almost embarrassingly aroused by the mediocre writing. You finish the night with fingers between your legs and a couple scenes from the book drifting through your thoughts, but afterwards you aren’t sure how they would work because there’s only Annie and you, and these scenes involve three people.

You continue reading the next day, but work forces you to pause, and in that time, you almost start to regret your choice with  _Chained_. It’s given  _some_ insight, but you still aren’t sure how to incorporate that into your meetings with Annie.

Still, when you come home, you bundle up in bed and pick up where you left off, only to be stopped when your phone buzzes and Annie’s name flashes on the screen.

 _Hey,_ it reads.  _Are you busy?_

You think,  _I’m not ready yet_ , but your stomach is doing flips at the thought of having her over now. There’s a familiar heat in your gut, and you think that Annie’s fingers—or better, her  _mouth_ —would be much better than your own tonight.

So you close your book and text her back:  _No I’m not. You should come over._

She shows in twenty, but by then you’ve already tucked your book and gear away in the top of your closet and the two of you fuck on the couch until you’re scratching lines into her shoulders from the way her thumb presses against your clit. You pay her back in kind, but as she jerks against the flat of your tongue and tangles her fingers in your hair, you find yourself just a little disappointed she didn’t bring her stuff with her.

Afterward when you’ve both had enough and she starts dressing to leave, you think about mentioning you want to try something with her, but by the time you get your words together, she’s already out the door and you’re left alone.

You try not to let it bother you and tuck yourself into bed with your book. You read until about the halfway point and then set it down for the night, turning off the light and pulling the covers up to your neck.

Things pick up at work after that, and your evenings are split between visiting with Eren’s family and meeting up with the friends he’s made at his new university. Armin also stops by to tell you all about his new story idea (and watch a few episodes of Breaking Bad with you), and so your book and things stay tucked away in the top of your closet—but that isn’t to say you don’t think about them occasionally during the days.

Finally you get the chance to come back to your story and end up reading the rest of it all in one go on Saturday night.

It leaves you unsurprisingly hot, but more importantly, it leaves you thinking about the scene between only two of the characters. The third was thinking about ending the arrangement, and the other two had gotten together in the meantime and tried to make due without her.  _They_ had been hurt by her missing presence, but  _you_ thoroughly enjoyed the scene. You think about you and Annie slipping into the roles and come apart to the image after some hurried pressure to your clit.

Afterwards, you open your laptop and return to the shop you’d used before, picking out just what you need to make your fantasy a reality. Then you check with your cuffs and do a bit of creative engineering with the desk in your bedroom.

And then you wait.

You were tempted to go for the express mail to get your order back to you faster, but in the end you couldn’t justify it enough to pay the extra twenty bucks for overnight shipping. So when your package arrives four days later, you’ve had plenty of time to think long and hard about what you would do and how you’d get Annie to go along with it.

You text her on Friday.  _Hey, do you want to come over tonight?_

It takes a few minutes to get a response and you almost get worried she was ignoring you.

_Yeah sure. Be over soon._

You smile and reply:  _I want to try something while you’re here._

Her response is almost immediate.  _Hmm?_

_You’ll see. Just come over._

You end up standing in front of your closet and debating changing for fifteen minutes before you finally let out a sigh that’s all nervous energy and pent up frustration and decide that your simple black underwear and dark tank are fine, that everything’s fine, that it’s all going to be  _fine_.

Annie arrives a little over a half hour after you text her, and she’s dressed casually, nothing but a pair of skinny leg jeans and her usual hoodie. Her hair is up like it normally is and she’s on her phone, texting someone when you open the door.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, tucking her phone away after she’s finished her message. “We were watching  _Forgetting Sarah Marshall_  and I barely got out before they put on  _50 First Dates_.”

You nod, a little stiffly, and let her in, closing the door behind you and bending down for a quick kiss. She wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pushes up against you, catching your lower lip with her teeth when you start to pull away.

“What were you talking about?” she asks, and she doesn’t even need to clarify.

You shift a little, and then swallow your worries, pull her by the hips so you can lean against the back of the couch, and kiss her again. She parts her lips for your tongue and slips her hands up from your shoulders to cup your face, pulling you down to her level. You’ve only barely got the sense of mind to grope around for the collar, laid across the top of the sofa, and reach up with both hands to hook it behind her neck.

She stops at the sound of it snapping into place and pulls back, looking down at the piece of black leather, and touching the metal ring at its front with a hand. The confusion withers from her face quick enough, and instead she looks at you with the faintest of smiles.

“Is this it?” she asks.

“Yes—no. There’s more.” Your heart is thumping in your ears, and its more difficult than you’d care to admit to keep her gaze.

“Oh,” she hums, and then sets her hand against your hip, waiting.

You lean back over the couch and grab the red sash from the cushions. You bring it up, holding it between your hands, and when Annie doesn’t say anything, you set it over her eyes and tie it behind her head, pulling her hair out while you’ve got your hands back there.

Then you take her by the ring of the collar and pull her back into you, one hand snaking up beneath her hoodie and the other hooked at her neck, and kiss her fumbling lips until you’re breathless and barely feeling any of the nervousness from before.

She’s starting to twitch at the feel of your fingers dancing over the fabric of her bra, and you do her the favor of pulling the thick hoodie up over her head and revealing the sandy colored cami beneath.

You like the collar, like the way you can pull her into you whenever you want or give yourself a moment to watch her face twist ever so slightly at the insistence of your fingers. You do both, setting your lips against hers and kissing her almost languidly before suddenly slipping your hand beneath the silk of her bra and pulling back to watch her bite her lower lip when you rolling your pads over her nipple.

“There’s still more,” you tell her when she lets out a soft breath of pleasure and starts to really lean into you, the sensations going straight to her legs.

“Show me already,” Annie breathes.

You stand up and take her by the collar, leading her around the couch and towards the bedroom, and she stumbles along after you, taking short strides because she can’t see a thing.

It makes you want to get her inside already, makes you want to bury your head into her neck and bite until there are red marks from your teeth.

You pull her into your bedroom and slide in behind her, walking her to the desk opposite your bed and leaning down to tell her, “ _Bend over_.”

She hesitates, but you’ve got a hand between her shoulder blades, and you start applying pressure until she’s forced to go, bending at the waist carefully until she’s got her elbows on the plane of your desk. Then you reach over her and pull her wrists into the cuffs, securing them on her, left and then right.

The cuffs are tied to the tethers, which are knotted and held between the desk and wall with about a foot of space between them. You’ve tugged on them a bit, and they didn’t move much when you tried it, so you don’t think Annie is going to have much more luck.

“You’ve done some shopping,” she says, her voice quivering. It’s a good quiver, a kind that usually means she’s about to come undone on your fingers, and you feel all the more confident for it.

“A little,” you agree, wrapping your arms around her waist to undo the fly of her pants and leaning forward to scrape your teeth over her shoulder blade. She grasps the tethers as you draw back to pull the denim down to her ankles.

She lets out a little puff of air and tips her head forward when you splay a hand on the desk and press yourself up against her, slipping your other hand beneath the band of her underwear and seeking her clit. She shudders and pulls against the cuffs, but you just lean forward and bite the curve of her neck, your fingers working slow circles on her.

Annie shakes and sighs, but you’re not giving her nearly enough for her to get off. You’re getting wet though, and when you dip your fingers down lower, you find her in much the same state.

 _Good,_  you think, pulling your hand from her underwear and stepping away from her.

She raises her head and asks, “Mikasa?”

You ignore her, and slip out of you underwear, reaching for the harness laid out across your bed. It hooks around your waist and thighs, and you slip it in and let out a little sigh at the feel of it within you.

Then you come back to Annie and spread a hand across the curve of her butt, hooking your fingers in her underwear and pulling down just enough so you can see her, just as wet as you thought. You press the end of the strap-on against her, and she stiffens for just a second before you push into her.

She lets out a small sound of surprise, and you pull out and sink back into her again slowly. 

“Oh,” she says.

You set your hand to her hip and another to the dial at front of the harness, turning it on with a simple click. You shudder as it turns on, a soft humming accompanying Annie’s surprised, “ _Oh._ ”

You push into Annie, slowly at first but gradually picking up speed. She shivers, arches, and lets out half breaths that turn into heavy pants, and all the while you’re stuck somewhere between closing your eyes and losing yourself in the sensation and keeping your eyes open to see her writhe, gripping at the tethers or twisting her head to give a little cry.

You had thought about buying her a gag to pay her back, but now you’re glad you didn’t. She’s struggling with her voice, making little shuddering breaths and then suddenly hissing out  _fuck_ , and all the while you keep pushing her along until her hands are shaking and her knees threaten to buckle.

And then you lean forward, the vibrator working against your clit at the angle, and slide your hand along her hip to press your fingers between her thighs, working her there with all the fervor you’re using to thrust into her. Her thighs go rigid with tension and she pushes herself up onto her toes, and you just keep on and push her all the way.

Annie comes with a cry and then all the tension bleeds from her at once and she sags onto the desk, but your orgasm doesn’t come until you grind down against the vibrator and then its all bright lights and electric pleasure shooting right up your spine.

You barely keep your feet, both hands falling to the desk to keep you steady as you ride out your orgasm. It leaves you breathless, and you drop to an elbow, so close you can her Annie taking in long, deep breaths.

“Mikasa,” she says, breathing hard still.

You let out a little breath to let her know you hear her, and reluctantly start to pick yourself up. She doesn’t try to compose herself, hair disheveled from the motions of your thrusts.

“Is that a doubl—”

“Yes,” you cut her off, if only to turn the strap-on off. It dies with a quick click, and you stand up and balance yourself with help from the desk before pulling out of Annie, the vibrator slick from use.

It takes a long moment for you to recover enough to realize she’s still blindfolded and cuffed to a desk, but Annie doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get up, and you like the look of her down there enough to not say anything about it.

“I should probably go,” she says suddenly.

You press your lips into a hard line and then say, “Okay.”

You begin to undo the latches, and when she’s free, she straightens carefully and then turns to you, pulling the blindfold up over her forehead instead. You turn to look elsewhere and wish she would keep it on. You hope she doesn’t realize you’re disappointed.

But instead of making for the door, she reaches behind her neck and undoes the collar. Then she takes you by the hem of your shirt and pulls you closer. The collar snaps around your neck as she leans up to kiss you, nipping at your lower lip and running her nails over your shoulders.

“But Reiner and Bertholdt are probably still watching  _50 First Dates_ ,” she says as she pulls away, smirking somewhat. “And I’d like to make use of  _this.”_  She pulls on the collar.

There’s something like relief that rushes through your veins. “Buy your own,” you say, and she kisses you hard and pulls you down against her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the sequel no one expected or particularly wanted. more in the bonding through bdsm saga.

You count the hits as you land them, palm warm and stinging from use.

_Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen._

Annie, for her part, curls her toes and bites down on whatever sense she has left, lips sealed tight even as the count grows to twenty strikes. Either you’re not hitting hard enough, or she’s finally learned to keep quiet.

You splay your other hand across her back, feeling her flinch the second before your hand smacks her ass, her fingers digging into the sheets. You hesitate before the next strike, and she tenses, waiting. The slope of her back is a gorgeous sight, and you play your fingers up her spine, gentle as can be. Annie shudders when you smooth her hair, fixing what you yourself have undone.

“What’s the count?” you ask, playing with her hair.

She sucks in a breath and lifts her face from the bed. “Twenty-three.”

You lean down and press a kiss to the top of her head. Then you spank her harder than before, and she nearly jolts out of your lap, a surprised whine tumbling from her lips.

“What was that?” you ask, hand stilling over her warm skin.

“Twenty- _four_ ,” she breathes.

You rub the curve of her ass, giving one cheek a firm grab, and she presses her face back into the mattress. Maybe not so quiet as she is smart, you think. Smothering the noises is cheating.

You fist your hand in her hair and yank her up, enjoying the stutter in her gasp.

“Not a sound,” you tell her, drawing your hand back slowly. “Or we’ll start over.”

The corner of her lips tugs up, and you twist her head so she’s looking over her shoulder at you. She smiles, eyes foggy, skin flushed, and meets your gaze. You bring your hand down hard, and she arches, teeth bared, and squints against the pain. But she doesn’t utter a word, meeting your strike with complete silence.

You nearly grin.

“Good girl,” you say, patting her swollen cheeks.

Annie parts her lips to speak, but hesitates, and you let go of her hair to caress her jaw, sliding your fingers from chin to throat. You feel her swallow before she tries again.

“Good enough?” she asks, spreading her thighs just enough to catch your attention.

You slip your fingers around her throat, giving it a testing squeeze. She closes her eyes and sighs, shivering.

“Barely,” you say even though your mouth has gone dry watching her, heat pooled in the pit of your gut. You won’t tell her she’s got your pulse spiking, blood hammering in your ears even though she’s just spent a half hour between your thighs before this.

Slowly, you slide your hand down, away from the stinging marks you left on her alabaster skin, and press two fingers against her, finding wetness in her blonde curls. She sucks in a breath that’s all anticipation, and you circle her, teasing. Her thighs twitch, knees rubbing together as she tries to keep her legs from clenching, and the sound she makes when you push into her is relief, hips jumping at the sudden entrance.

“Fuck,” she hisses, and you don’t even mind.

Annie is slick with her own arousal, and your fingers slide in all the way to the knuckles, curling slightly before withdrawing.

“Getting off on your punishment?” you ask, beginning with a slow, methodical pace. Annie turns away from you, biting back a moan, and you give her neck another squeeze, thrusting into her at the same time. “We’ll do fifty next time.”

She lets out a whimper that goes straight to your gut, and you push into her a little harder, watching her jump and shudder under your touch.

It nearly undoes you like that, seeing her fall to pieces on your fingers, but you give her all the pressure she wants, thrusting into her so she has to bury her face in the mattress, hands fisted in the sheets. The way she’s writhing, you could be spanking her still, each press of your fingers making her jerk and tremble, voice rising more than it ever did when you were just hitting her.

She moans, and it vibrates along your palm. All it takes is a few more strokes, curling your fingers as she crests, back arching and keening your name into the mattress.

Annie trembles even after she’s spent, mostly because your fingers are stilled within her, crooking slightly, coaxing her through her pleasure. She mumbles something, but it’s lost to the sheets, and so you give her throat a final squeeze and then rub the back of her neck instead, waiting for her to come back to you.

“You’re good at this,” she says finally, turning her head so she isn’t talking into the bed anymore and sighing.

You might have bristled before, but now you just pull your fingers out of her--she shivers and huffs, still too sensitive--and wipe them on the back of her thigh. “I didn’t say we were done,” you tell her, heat still roiling in your gut.

Annie pushes herself up, straddling you with less hitches than you’d have expected after the whipping you gave her. She settles carefully in your lap, wincing, but still smiling faintly. Her cheeks are a rosy red, lips full and swollen, and she brushes some of her blonde hair behind her ear.

“You might not be, but I’m going to be feeling this later,” she says.

You try not to look as disappointed as you suddenly feel, biting your bottom lip and glancing away. You offer, “I can help you with the lotion.”

Her eyes twinkle. She takes your face in both hands, sliding her thumbs along the curve of your cheekbones, smiling suddenly like this is your first time again and she’s about to take your sight and strap you to a chair. Her thumb brushes across your lips while the other threads into your hair.

“I said I was done. Are  _you_?”

You shiver and lean into her, hands coming to rest on her hips.

“No,” you whisper. You tradeoff roles so effortlessly it’s giving you whiplash.

You don’t complain though, because she pushes you back into the mattress and presses her lips to your neck, your breasts, your stomach and the jut of your hips. Her fingers follow, burning trails of heat that all lead down to your gut, and finally, finally when she’s had enough of your breathy moans and quiet pleas, she licks a trail to your clit, her fingers sinking into you.

It doesn’t take long to break you down, and when she’s finished with you, she sits up, hair a mess from where you pulled at her, and licks her digits clean, watching you the whole time.

“I’m going to shower,” she says, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed and making a show of stretching.

You watch her go from where you are, admiring the sight of her red bottom as she slips out of your room, and when the water turns on, you close your eyes and wet your lips, thinking that Annie showing you her ropes and gags was one of the best things to ever happen to you.

The time ticks by like that, and before you know it, Annie is back at the doorway, a towel wrapped around her naked body, hair limp around her face, saying, “Done.”

You rise and take your turn under the spray, washing away the sweat from your rounds with Annie, and when you’re finished too, you turn off the water and reach for a towel, wrapping it around yourself more to ward off the chill than some notion of modesty. After all, she’s seen, touched, and tasted most of you. There isn’t much to hide at this point.

When you step out of the bathroom and make your way back to your bedroom, you nearly trip over the discarded clothes lying in piles across the floor, but Annie’s too busy pulling her hair up into a bun to notice. She’s still got the towel wrapped around her body, and it covers her chest to mid thigh, where you barely fit beneath its edges at all.

“Will you still help me with the lotion?” she asks, noticing you staring.

“Sure,” you say, and find it atop your dresser.

She shuffles over to the bed, pulling her towel off and draping it over the footboard. Then she eases down onto the sheets, skin mostly dry, and waits for you on her stomach, arms folded under her chin.

You sit on the edge even though you’re still wet because it’s your bed and you don’t mind, and without wasting a moment, squeeze the lotion into your hand and begin applying it to Annie’s butt. She lets out a little sigh at the feel of cool relief, but doesn’t move otherwise, and you work the lotion into her skin until she’s sticky with it.

“Better?” you ask.

“Mhm.”

You consider asking her if she’s going to go now--she said something about leaving by eight, and it’s nearly seven-thirty now--but she looks content enough for you to hesitate. Instead, you swallow your words and rise, toweling yourself off and pulling on sweats and a sports bra, your hair strings of ink.

Annie still hasn’t moved.

“Annie?” you ask. Is she asleep?

“Hm?” she answers, not moving.

You feel a little useless with her lying there. Staying for aftercare is one thing, but beyond patching each other up and getting a shower in, neither of you really linger. Right about now you’d be going to make yourself dinner, but you’re stuck floundering.

“It’s almost eight,” you tell her, and you can’t tell why pushing her to leave makes your stomach knot. It certainly isn’t want; Annie took care of that.

“The lotion’s sticky,” she says, finally propping herself up on her elbows and glancing over her shoulder at you. Her cheeks are colored, and she won’t quite look you in the eyes.

“Oh,” you say. She wants to stay then.

Your open your mouth to say more, but realize you don’t have any words for her. You fidget on the spot, suddenly not able to look Annie in the eye either, and run a hand through your hair.

“I’m, uh,” you start. Your face is hot too, and you don’t know why. “I’ve got leftovers. Lasagna. If you want some.

“While you’re waiting, I mean,” you tack on, and then decide it’s time to remove yourself from the room before anything comes tumbling out of your loose lips.

You turn on your heel and abscond from your own bedroom, taking some kind of shelter in the kitchen. There’s plenty left over from when you cooked yesterday, and you tell yourself that it would be weird if you didn’t offer her any. You can’t just eat in front of someone else without offering them any. Perfectly normal, you decide.

So when you hear Annie step into the kitchen, you’re halfway through warming up dinner and ready to continue on as you normally do when the two of you aren’t having sex.

(you realize, belatedly, you can’t really remember the last time that happened)

Instead, you look up and find Annie in a tank top and nothing else, and you freeze.

“Uh,” she mumbles. “The lotion.”

She offers a weak shrug to go with her explanation.

“Right,” you say, looking back to the microwave because it’s easier than facing her. “It’s almost ready. I usually just eat in the living room.”

She nods and removes herself from the kitchen with little wasted time, and you busy yourself pulling out plates and forks and nearly sigh with relief when you hear the television click on. It drowns out the sound of your own heartbeat, and gives you a chance to calm down while you’re cutting pieces of lasagna with a fork.

When you’re through, you stow what’s left in the fridge and pick up the two plates, taking a deep breath before rounding the corner of your kitchen and finding Annie sprawled out on the couch, a pair of sweats covering her where there was nothing before.

She’s laid out on her stomach across the couch, and somehow it’s a little relieving that she’s all covered up now, even if you know sitting is going to be more than uncomfortable.

“Here,” you say, handing her a plate. She starts to shift away, but you cut her off. “You don’t have to move.”

Luckily, Annie is small, and your couch is just long enough to leave you a little place up against the arm, which suits you just fine. Your back is straight as you settle in, realizing Annie has picked some one-star horror movie from your Netflix list, and without really looking at her, you begin to eat.

She does the same, and you pass time with her up on her elbows, the corner of her plate pressing into your thigh, quietly eating while the actors in the movie unearth some kind of gargoyle from a tomb in France.

“You’re done?” she asks, nearly making you jump.

You look down at your plate and realize yes, you are done.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll wash them off,” she says, standing slowly and taking your plate from you.

Then she disappears into your kitchen, turns on the faucet, and begins scrapping cheese and sauce into the drain, and you realize exactly how surreal it all is. When’s the last time you did this with someone besides Eren or Armin? Nevermind this is Annie. You try not to think about it too much though, so you turn your attention back to the screen and don’t even look up when you hear the water cut off.

Annie slips back into the living room, pausing at the threshold between the two rooms, but then she rounds the couch and lies down again, her arms under her head. Her pinky brushes your thigh where her plate used to, and you glance down at her.

She’s staring at the television like it’s the only thing that matters in the world, but she’s gnawing on her lip and you have a feeling it has nothing to do with the spray of blood onscreen. Annie swallows and you suck in a deep breath, catching the smell of your own shampoo on her, and then you move your hand from your lap to the place between her shoulder blades, touch light.

Annie doesn’t tense like you expect her to; instead, she relaxes with the weight of your hand on her back.

“Thank you,” you say.

“You cooked,” she says. “I cleaned.”

That’s all there is to it, and somehow that makes you feel a little better. You relax into the cushions and turn your attention back to the movie, which you realize you’ve missed almost half of it despite having been looking at the screen nearly the whole time.

The rest of the night passes like that: you with your hand on her back, her barely touching your thigh, and the movie rolls and rolls until finally they’ve killed the monster with nothing but a fire hydrant, a broken pitch fork, and case of water. The credits roll, but neither of you move until the menu appears on the screen.

Annie breathes deep and glances to the clock on the cable box. It’s nearly ten.

“I should get going,” she tells you, picking herself up from the sofa and blinking away the drowsiness in her eyes.

“The lotion?” you ask.

“All dry.”

You nod and remain where you are while she returns to your bedroom and picks up what’s left of her things, pulling your hands back into your lap.

She comes back a moment later with shoes and her hoodie, and you rise to meet her. You aren’t sure why. It’s not like she needs you to show her out. Even so, you walk with her around the couch and stop at the door, neither of you going for the knob just yet.

“Thanks,” she says, not looking your way. “For letting me stay over.”

“It’s fine,” you say.

“I’ll see you later.”

She goes for the door, and you hold your breath. You want to kiss her, you realize, but you don’t kiss Annie goodbye. You kiss her when you’re breathless with the feel of her, warm all the way from your head to your toes, but something seems wrong kissing her now.

She pulls the door open and says, “Goodnight, Mikasa.”

You let go of the breath your were holding and lean in quickly, pressing your lips to hers and drawing back just as fast. You say, “Goodnight, Annie.”

Annie freezes up, a deer in the headlights, and then looks away quickly. She ducks out the door, a smile pulling at her lips, and you shut it behind her. Even after she’s gone, you stand there, listening to the sound of her going down the hallway of your complex, counting time with her steps and smiling like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a story about baby gays experiencing a feeling.


End file.
